Elephant
by BrewedAwakening
Summary: Everyone knew who he was. Teachers, students, people at the grocery store- he was basically a celebrity. Matthew Bonnefoy,"the blind kid." He was so popular that people couldn't bear to keep their eyes off him. Or speak to him. Or acknowledge his existence. The elephant in the room, that was Matthew. Always just kind of...there. Until he meets a nosy kid named Gilbert, that is.
1. Prologue: Part I

**A/N: FACE Family/High School AU. Please enjoy.**

PROLOGUE: PART I

This was the longest car ride of Arthur's life. The rain was coming down with no end in sight. It pounded mercilessly on the rugged streets below, like it was mocking the inner turmoil taking place within Arthur's mind. His heart was racing and he folded his restless hands in his lap in an effort to calm himself. As the Frenchman beside him stepped on the gas, the stoplight having turned green, Arthur swallowed thickly, realizing that they didn't have much time left.

"Arthur," Francis said softly, pulling the anxious man from his frantic thoughts. "Please. Talk to me."

Pulling his eyes from the road momentarily, he glanced over at the man seated at his side, eyes pleading. They had been driving for nearly an hour in silence, and Francis couldn't take it any longer. They needed to talk. And they needed to do it now. He frowned when he didn't get a response. Instead the passenger simply glared forward at the long stretching road ahead, his lips set in a tight line. Arthur didn't even want to look at Francis, let alone speak to him. The sooner they could get home, the better. He just wanted to see his children, and forget about the nonsense he had heard that morning. These doctors disgusted him.

"Arthur," Francis pressed, his voice stern. There was no more avoiding this. He knew how stubborn the man could be, but he could be just as adamant.

"There's nothing to talk about, Francis," he spat.

Francis gripped the wheel tighter, his jaw clenching in frustration. This was going nowhere. If he wasn't going to get it out of Arthur willingly, then he would just have to force it out of him. He spotted a nearby gas station, the first one he had seen since they had left their appointment. He knew it could be an hour or more before he would be able to find another pit stop, and there was no way he would spend a minute longer in such suffocating silence. He had made up his mind.

Arthur yelped as Francis made a sharp right turn, the car wheels screeching in agony against the wet cement as he swerved into the empty station. Gasping, he clutched the seat belt at his chest and scowled at the man behind the wheel. "What in the bloody hell are you doing!" he shouted, "Are you trying to kill us both?" This time it was Arthur who was answered with silence, and he became even more irritated that Francis seemed to be completely unfazed. The Englishman looked around as he tried to gather his bearings and scoffed with annoyance once he realized where they were.

"Why in the world did you stop here?" he demanded. "We're fine on gas!" he said, peeking at the fuel gauge to make sure he wasn't crazy. Still, Francis stayed silent and passed straight by the pumps, confusing the agitated man even more. "What are you-" Arthur gasped again as Francis turned abruptly into one of the only two parking spaces there, turning off the engine and removing the keys. Arthur's anger subsided for only a second, momentarily replaced by shock. Francis wasn't acting like himself. He watched as the other slowly removed his seat belt and slipped the keys into his pocket. He flinched slightly as their eyes met, startled by the other's hard, blue stare.

"Nothing to talk about?" he said, voice barely above a whisper. "Nothing to talk about, Arthur?"

And just like that, with his own words thrown back at him, his anger returned tenfold. "I gave you my answer and it won't change! It won't change, Francis!" he screamed.

"Arthur, calm down," Francis said, placing a gentle hand on Arthur's own. He frowned when the Brit snatched away, fixing him with a spiteful glare.

"Drive," he hissed. They both stared each other down in silence, thunder rumbling all around them. The windshield wiper squealed as it swayed back and forth, wiping away the droplets on its glass canvas.

"We aren't going anywhere." Francis had reached his limit. He was done dancing around the issue, done changing the subject. He was done acting like everything was alright, like they could just go on living leaving things the way they were.

"Drive the car!" Arthur yelled. He didn't need this right now. He was exhausted and stressed; talking was the last thing he wanted to do. He felt sick to his stomach and he trembled with rage as pure adrenaline rushed through his veins. He couldn't do this right now. He just couldn't.

"Not until we finish this discussion!" Francis shouted back. Arthur was stunned, and he didn't bother hiding it. Francis never raised his voice. Francis even surprised himself. He sighed shakily, attempting to calm himself before continuing. "This won't just disappear, Arthur. No matter how much you want it to, it won't."

"Don't you think I know that?" he said, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. "I've known that since the day we were told Matthew was ill…" Francis' eyes widened as the tears spilled over, and Arthur held his head in his hands, disgusted with how pathetic he felt.

"Arthur…"

"What do you want me to say?" he sobbed, wiping at his face. "That I want those surgeons to blind our child? That I want them to," he shuddered as he was overcome with feelings of absolute horror, "to _gouge_ out his eyes and leave him terrified? It's inhumane!" He gave a bitter chuckle as he slowly shook his head. "We come all the way down here, and for what? Hours of driving only to be told what we've been told the last six times. God," he whimpered, "Matthew never asked for this. He's been suffering his whole life! How could I allow him to suffer even more?" Arthur was angry. Not at his husband or the doctors, but that their son had to go through this. He was angry that their son was robbed of a normal childhood. Angry at the fact that after all they had done to keep their little boy out of harm's way, he was still in constant danger. It just wasn't fair.

Francis took his lover's trembling hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. His heart felt like lead in his chest as he watched the blonde slump in defeat. "Mon cher, I know you're hurting. I do. I am too." He looked apologetically into those somber green eyes, full of sorrow and grief, and tenderly wiped at the steady falling tears. "I don't want this anymore than you do. But you have to understand that these doctors only want what's best for our Matthieu. If there was any other way, I wouldn't have even entertained the idea. But there isn't. This is our last resort. If we don't let them do this, we may lose him."

"But…if we continue with the chemo, it could get better and-"

"But what if it doesn't? What if it gets worse?" Francis was firm, but not forceful. He just needed Arthur to understand how grave things were. They could no longer live in denial. "We can't risk it. Tell me, would you rather lose your sight or your life?"

Arthur's eyes widened as realization hit him like a freight train. What was he _doing_? Was he really gambling with something as precious as his child's life? He suddenly felt a wave of nausea throughout his body and a feeling of shame washed over him.

Denial. It was a nasty, ruthless little pest. It had taken a hold of the both of them for a long while, but Arthur just couldn't seem to break free of it. Matthew wasn't as sick as the doctors made him out to be, he had first convinced himself. He was a happy, healthy child who played cops-and-robbers with his brother and helped his father cook in the kitchen. His son was sick, he admitted, but he was a normal boy. A normal boy who began chemotherapy, but normal nonetheless. A normal boy who began losing his energy, whose hair began to thin, but he was just like any other child. This was Arthur's way of coping. But that day, as he sat at that crummy gas station in the pouring rain, face streaked with tears, he realized how foolish he had been.

"Dear god," he breathed, "what's wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you, Arthur," Francis said softly. "You're a parent." The Frenchman pulled him into an embrace and smiled as he felt the other's arms come round his neck.

"I apologize…for acting the way that I have," Arthur said, feeling a light flush come to his face. Apologizing was something he rarely did, but he felt like it was more than warranted in this situation. He had acted like a real jerk. "I was extremely childish and…I'm sorry."

Francis shook his head. "This has been a long few months for the both of us. I couldn't be upset with you even if I tried." He had known how frustrated Arthur was. They were both under a lot of stress. He was just glad Arthur had finally expressed his frustrations. The side-stepping had gone on for much too long.

The Englishman sighed softly as he pulled away. "He'll never be able to see again." The more he thought about it, the more his heart ached. Matthew was just barely four. This would devastate him.

Francis was just as concerned. He felt completely helpless as he wondered how they would explain this to their son. How could anyone explain to a child that they would live the rest of their life in darkness? Just the thought made him uneasy. But he knew they would manage somehow. They had to. "We'll be right there with him to help him through this." Taking Arthur's hand in his own, he smiled. "We need to stay strong," he said, "for his sake."

The rain had become a gentle drizzle, and although Arthur still had fears of what was to come, he was sure that the decision they had made was right. There was nowhere to go but up.

"Right."


	2. Prologue: Part II

PROLOGUE: PART II

He was supposed to be brave. Like he told his family he would be. Brave. Like the superheroes in his brother's favorite TV shows. He thought he could be brave too, just like them. But as Matthew sat there in his wrinkled hospital gown, his family smiling and joking at his side, he began to realize he was wrong. He was dead wrong. The toddler stared down at the thin band around his wrist, recognizing only his name among the other jumbles of letters and numbers that meant nothing to him. He began to feel nauseous, his stomach churning and knotting up on itself. Alfred's laughter just barely reached his ears, all but drowned out by the sound of his racing heart slamming against his tiny chest. As he looked once more to his family, his breaths short and quick, the façade he'd managed to maintain for so long finally began to crumble. He was scared.

Cancer.

It had been controlling Matthew's life since before he could remember. He was just a year old when his parents were told of the masses forming in his eyes, tumors that threatened to rob him of his sight, and possibly his life. By the time the young boy had celebrated his second birthday, the hospital had become something of a second home to him. Monthly check-ups and chemotherapy sessions became routine for Matthew and his family, and with the way he and his brother used to prance up and down the colorfully decorated halls, at times it seemed to be something more of a playground than a children's hospital. But once Matthew's condition began to steadily deteriorate, reality soon set in. The disease was persistent, but so were his parents. They took their child to every specialist they could find, made sure he had access to every treatment they recommended. But in the end, it all proved useless.

The cancer had become so aggressive, that the treatments started losing their effectiveness. With progress at a standstill, the risk of spread was enormous, and if the cancer had even a sliver of an opportunity to reach any other internal organs, it would be a death sentence. Left with just two options, both Francis and Arthur found themselves conflicted. They could continue with the therapy at a more intensive rate, and risk the cancer spreading even further, or eliminate the threat altogether and have the three year old's eyes surgically extracted. It was a hard pill to swallow, and for a while, neither of them wanted to accept it. Desperate for an alternative, they sought out second, third, and fourth opinions-only to arrive at the same conclusion each time. The second option was best. It was necessary, they were told. And so there the couple sat with their son, putting on brave faces for his sake, secretly wondering what would come of tomorrow, when their son woke up in a world not of his choosing.

"Papa said we can go get ice cream after your operation, Mattie!" Alfred said, leaning on the thick plastic siding of his brother's bed. The bed jerked to the side a bit, startling the young patient, and Arthur had to tell the lively boy to settle down. He sighed concededly as his son wiggled back onto his lap, grinning wide as ever in spite of the light scolding. It was impossible not to crack a smile at such an adorable face, and it made Arthur wonder when he had gotten so soft.

"Ack, Alfred!" Francis sighed and gave Alfred's cheek a playful pinch. "It was supposed to be a surprise!"

"Oh yeah…oops." He giggled sheepishly, clasping his hands over his mouth.

"'Oops' is right, mon chou," Francis said with a mock frown, giving his little nose squeeze for good measure.

The ruined surprise didn't come as much of a disappointment to Matthew, especially since ice cream was the last thing on his mind at the moment. But he mustered up a weak smile and laughed along with his brother, all the while trying to keep down the breakfast he had eaten that morning. The pungent stench of antiseptic and heavy duty bleach lingered in the air, and as he leaned back against the thin pillows propped behind him, he felt as if he was slowly suffocating.

"Like this little devil needs anymore sweets," Arthur chuckled. "You've just had two cavities filled last month. Ice cream is the last thing you should be eating."

"But Daddyyy! I brush my teeth really, really good now!" Alfred insisted.

"Well," Arthur corrected.

"Um, well! Right, Papa?" He looked over to his father with a small pout, his bright blue eyes full of hope.

"Right!" Francis flashed a smile and gave a thumbs up. "Papa's seen it with his own eyes," he said, knowing full well that Alfred's teeth brushing skills, while not as horrible as before, still left much to be desired.

Alfred perked up. "See?" He looked up to Arthur expectantly, who furrowed his brows and hummed in thought. He glanced at the man next to him with doubtful eyes, smirking when he saw the Frenchman tense slightly. There was the _real _answer he was looking for. He looked back down at the child bouncing in his lap with anticipation.

"Oh, alright," he relented, a gentle smile on his face. "But if I find any more cavities, then I'll know who to blame, hm?" He looked at his husband again, with a smile too sweet for Francis' liking.

"Undoubtedly," he said, his smile abashed.

"Yay!" Alfred shouted, swinging his legs back and forth excitedly. "Mattie, what flavor are you gonna get? I'm gonna get chocolate!"

By then Matthew was too far gone to even think about an answer to his question. Instead, he sat there staring at his family as they stared back at him, waiting for his answer.

"Mattie?" Alfred was starting to notice that his brother didn't look so good.

Matthew's heartbeat rang in his ears, and his hands, cold and clammy, clutched the clean, white sheets beneath him. His lips began to quiver and yet, all he could do was stare. He looked slowly from his brother and then to his parents, realizing that that day would be the last day he would see them.

"Matthew? What's wrong, dear?"

Matthew saw his parents' eyes widen just before his vision clouded with tears. He whimpered as he clamped his eyes shut, wishing the tears would just disappear. He was supposed to be brave. But he couldn't be, not anymore. He couldn't hold it in any longer. He let out a loud wail, all but screaming as his father scooped him up in his arms. Matthew latched onto him like a vice, gasping between sobs while hot tears streaked down his cheeks. He was terrified.

"Oh, Matthieu…" Francis said softly, rubbing his son's back as he placed a kiss atop his head. "Papa est ici, mon petit. Shh…"

Alfred started to cry too, and that only made Matthew more upset. Alfred had never heard such a sound come from his brother. None of them had. And as the two parents slowly paced around the room trying to console their children, it was taking all of their strength to keep their own composure. It seemed like an eternity before the boys finally calmed down, Matthew soon after Alfred. Matthew sighed and snuggled into his father's neck, finding comfort in his familiar scent and the gentle words he whispered in his ear. "Papa," he hiccuped. "I'm scared."

He'd said it. He was scared. This wasn't a check-up, or chemo, or anything like that. Matthew knew what would be happening to him in the next few hours. He knew. His parents had already explained it to him months beforehand, as gently as they could to someone so young. His eyes were making him very sick, and in order to get better he had to let the doctors have them. Matthew thought it was a joke when they first told him. He laughed and told them no, he couldn't do that. Then he wouldn't be able to see, he said. But when neither Daddy nor Papa cracked a smile, Matthew knew. They weren't joking. They weren't playing pretend; it was real.

He cried for a long, long time. For a straight week he would wake up crying in the middle of the night, and sometimes even cry himself to sleep. Until one day he completely stopped. Not only that, but his mood had improved drastically. Neither Francis nor Arthur had the slightest clue of what caused such change in Matthew, but they were just grateful to see their son laughing and playing again. Francis couldn't help but think back to those long nights of endless tears as he looked down at the quivering child in his arms. And he couldn't bear to see him in such distress a moment longer.

"Oh, Matthieu," he said, gingerly stroking the little hair the boy had on his head. "It's ok to be scared." He wiped away a stray tear, his heart aching as more came to take its place.

"I won't see Papa again," he whimpered. "Or Daddy, or Alfie."

Francis gave a sad smile. "Let Papa tell you something very important, mon amore. When you wake up tomorrow, you won't see Papa or Daddy or Alfie, but," he paused, pointing at his own ear, "you will hear us." He saw a look of understanding in Matthew's eyes, and could feel him beginning to relax. Taking his tiny hand in his own, he continued.

"Close your eyes, Matthieu," he said gently. "Keep them closed for now." Matthew did so, and frowned as he was forced to face the reality of his near future. He squeezed his father's hand tightly, apprehensive. "It's alright," Francis soothed. "Don't you hear Papa's voice?"

"Mm…mmhm."

"And Daddy's here too," Arthur said, taking his other hand.

"Me too!" Alfred added, loud as ever. His eyes were still a little red, and his nose still had color too, but he had perked right back up. If he wanted to keep his brother happy, he couldn't cry anymore. That would only make him even sadder, and he didn't want that. "Can you hear me, Mattie?"

Matthew nodded. "Yeah, I can. And Daddy too."

"Good boy. Now, what else can you hear?" Matthew's pink nose crinkled in thought, and Francis waited for a few moments before offering his own answer. "Papa can hear the little birds chirping in the trees outside. Can you hear them?"

Furrowing his brows, Matthew listened. He gave a small gasp as a chorus of peeps reached his ears. "I hear them, Papa!" His family smiled as the young boy's face lit up.

"Can you hear anything else, love?" Arthur asked, giving his hand a squeeze. "Listen closely."

"Um…oh! The clock, Daddy! I can hear it going tick, tock, tick, tock. Can you hear it too?"

"I sure can. Can you, Alfred?"

"Uh-huh, I can too!"

"That's right," Francis praised. "But you have even more than your hearing, Matthieu. For example, touch." He brought his son's hand to his face and ran the palm across his jaw. Matthew giggled at the prickly sensation. Francis laughed himself and asked, "Do you know what that was?"

"Papa's beard," he giggled again.

"That's my smart boy. Now," he said, leaning down to grab a plush object from his bed, "what could this be I wonder?" Matthew smiled when his father placed it in his hands, running his fingers through the soft fur of the stuffed animal.

"It's Kumajirou!" he said, hugging the bear close. He frowned slightly as he caught a whiff of the bear's fur. "Kuma smells like hospital now."

Arthur laughed and lowered himself to the floor, setting Alfred down next to Matthew per his request. "Don't worry. He'll get a thorough washing once we get home."

Francis joined Arthur at the boys' bedside. "You can open your eyes, mon fils." Matthew's eyes flickered open, and he blinked a few times as he looked around at the loved ones surrounding him. "Matthieu," he said, looking earnestly into his son's eyes, "you must always remember that you are more than just your sight. We will always be here with you. Understand?"

"Yes, Papa."

Arthur ruffled the older twin's golden locks, placing a small peck on his forehead. "You'll take care of your brother, won't you, lad?"

"Uh-huh! I gotta be Mattie's hero!" he proclaimed, sending a toothy grin his brother's way.

"Mattie's not sad anymore."

Matthew shook his head, flashing a smile of his own. "I'm gonna get chocolate too."

* * *

_Translations:_

_mon chou/my cabbage_

_Papa est ici, mon petit. /Papa is here, my little boy._

_mon amore/my love_

_mon fils/my son_

**A/N: A big thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and followed this story thus far. It is beyond appreciated! This marks the end of the prologue, and I hope you'll look forward to the start of the first chapter!**

**Not-so-fun-fact: The cancer young Matthew has is called Retinoblastoma, a rare childhood disease that progressively destroys the retinas of the eyes. If not identified in its early stages (as was in Matthew's case), it often results in enucleation, extraction of the afflicted eye(s).**


	3. Hero

HERO

Matthew could hear footsteps, and he knew exactly who they belonged to. They were loud and clunky. They were fast too, as if the person was in a hurry. But above all else, they were completely obnoxious. Matthew did his best to ignore the commotion as he continued to get ready for the day ahead, but it only became louder with each passing second. It was hard to concentrate, and Matthew was getting a little peeved. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the floorboards, though. They didn't deserve such abuse.

"Mattieeeee!" Alfred shouted as he ran down the hall, his worn Chuck Taylors pummeling the hardwood floor beneath him. He had just finished cajoling his father into letting him borrow the spare car, and he just had to tell his brother the good news.

"In here," he called back distractedly, his voice echoing off the pale blue bathroom walls.

Alfred came to a halt at the end of the hall and peered into the bathroom to see his brother in front of the mirror. He was bent over the sink and the water was running, so Alfred figured he was probably brushing his teeth or something. "Guess what, Mattie?" he said excitedly, leaning on the siding of the bathroom door.

"What?" Matthew asked, turning slightly to face him.

Alfred yelped when he saw only one eye staring back at him. "Aw, _dude_," he whined, making a face. "Can you give me a warning or something? Geez…" He shuddered slightly at the visible pink flesh inside the empty eye socket. No matter how many times he saw it, it would always take him a minute or so to get used to it.

Matthew scoffed as he flipped off the tap, and began to gently dry said missing eye with a soft towelette. "I've done this since I was three, Alfred. You should be used to this by now," he teased. Matthew wasn't offended in the slightest. His brother couldn't even watch scary movies without someone (usually Matthew) sitting next to him for moral support.

"Well, I'm not," Alfred said with a pout, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest.

Matthew shrugged. "You know I have to clean them every once in a while," he said, inserting the phony eye beneath his eyelids. They were handcrafted, completely identical to the real pair he had lost. The prosthetics were purely for aesthetic purposes, and although they couldn't make Matthew see again, they brought him that much closer to being "normal," and that was all he wanted. He blinked a few times and Alfred grinned as those familiar blue eyes stared back at him. "So, what were you trying to tell me?" he asked, passing by Alfred to return to his room.

"Oh!" He followed behind his brother, his excitement quickly returning. "You won't believe this. Dad said he'd lend me the Accord!"

Matthew was visibly shocked. "Wow, really?" He sat on his bed and put his shoes on one after the other. Once Alfred had received his driver's permit last summer, he'd been begging Arthur nonstop to drive that old car. Arthur would always refuse.

"It's against the law for a minor to operate an automobile without a parent or guardian present," the Englishman would say, quoting the state law word-for-word. Alfred would whine about Arthur being "lame," and complain about how Francis said it was ok. Arthur would then ask Alfred if he wanted him to accompany his son to school, because that was the only way he would let Alfred drive to school, with him in the passenger seat. Alfred would hastily decline and then reluctantly give up, and then the cycle would repeat itself.

"Yup," Alfred said proudly, "Pops finally convinced him to quit being so anal."

Matthew laughed. "Alright, Papa."

"Well, c'mon, Mattie!" he said, jingling the keys in his hand. "You're in charge of the radio."

"Oh…well, um," Matthew gave a weak smile. "Actually, Al, I was just gonna walk today," he said. He felt bad for turning Alfred down, especially when he'd finally gotten permission to use the car. He really did want to ride along with Alfred, but he couldn't. Not today.

"Huh?" Alfred was utterly confused. "But it's raining!" He watched Matthew zip up his backpack and throw it over his back.

"Exactly. It's just a light drizzle." He shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "I think it'd be nice."

Alfred stared at his brother in disbelief, and then looked down at the keys in his hand. He looked up again at his brother, who had grabbed an umbrella from inside his closet, and once more to his precious keys. He let out a long, agonized groan.

* * *

It was orgasmic, the smell of rain. Matthew stood there motionless on the street corner, listening to the gentle rhythm of raindrops meeting his umbrella. He loved rain. He loved the sound of it against his window pane, the sound it made as it hit the pavement, when it gathered into puddles and whirled through gutters on the street sides. He loved the way it felt on his skin, and the way the cool drops dampened his hair. But what he loved most was its smell. He smiled and inhaled deeply, allowing the scent of fresh, dewy grass and damp earth to fill his nostrils. There was nothing else like it.

"Duuuude," his brother groaned at his side, "this weather suuuucks." He frowned at the traffic signal at the other end of the street, silently pleading for its permission to cross. He hadn't planned to spend his morning stuck in the pouring rain. With a pout on his face, he wiped at the droplets gathering on his lenses and adjusted the soggy backpack slung over his shoulder.

Matthew rolled his eyes, a small smirk on his lips. He was sure there was no one who could exaggerate more than his brother. "Stop whining, Al," he said, wincing as a nearby car blew its horn. He held back a laugh as the mopey blonde leapt away from the curb to dodge splashing water, mumbling about rude motorists and lousy weather. "It really isn't so bad." Sure, it had become a little more than just a drizzle, but it wasn't like it was a thunderstorm or anything, Matthew had reasoned.

"Ughh," Alfred continued to grumble, "Dad was finally gonna lend me the car, but no. You had to feed your weird rain fetish and walk."

"W-What?" Matthew sputtered. "I-I don't have a fetish!"

Alfred snorted. "Yeah, whatever you say, Mattie."

"I don't!" he insisted. "It's not a _fetish_," he said, grimacing as the word left his mouth. "It's an appreciation. And it's not weird," he hastily added in defense of himself.

Alfred shrugged, smiling at the indignant look on his brother's face. "Not much of a difference."

"There's a _big _difference!"

"Whatever, bro," Alfred snickered, looking ahead to find that the signal had yet to change. He sighed wistfully, eyeing the passing cars with envy. "All these people," he said, "all nice and dry in their cars. That could've been us, you know."

"I said you didn't have to come," Matthew said matter-of-factly, seemingly unaffected by the other's childish antics. He squawked when Alfred's arm came around his neck and nearly dropped his cane to the ground. He frowned slightly in annoyance, fighting back a smile when his brother's obnoxious laugh reached his ears.

"Yeah right! Since when have we not walked to school together? Besides, since Dad gave me the ok, I can take the car another time." Alfred gasped suddenly, and quite dramatically, startling Matthew. "Are you trying to say you don't like walking with me anymore? Do you hate me?" he asked, feigning distress.

"Shut up," Matthew laughed, shoving him away as best as he could with a stick in one hand and an umbrella in the other. He heard a sharp bleeping noise from the automated signal at their side, indicating that the two boys could finally cross the street. He wasted no time making his way to the next stretch of sidewalk and Alfred quickly followed suit, laughing all the while.

Alfred was right though, Matthew thought, smiling to himself as he listened to Alfred ramble on about nothing in particular at his side. They had always walked to school together, ever since they were grade-schoolers. It was a short walk, ten, fifteen minutes at most, but it was special to Matthew. It was on that sidewalk that they jumped and stomped in puddles in their squeaky new rain boots, and argued over who had made the biggest splashes. On that very same street side they used to creep like snails, Matthew begging Alfred to keep an eye on him so he didn't step on any cracks; else he'd break their parent's backs. Sometimes they rushed home, eager to see what kinds of snacks their father had waiting for them. Other times they dragged their feet, dreading the hours they would spend completing that night's homework. It was how they bonded, walking down that road together everyday. The fact that Alfred was willing to pass up his first parent-free day behind the wheel to walk with him meant a lot to Matthew.

The roaring engine of a passing school bus reached Matthew's ears and he frowned. It wouldn't be long before they reached school. Matthew loathed going to school. It wasn't that he didn't like to learn; it was quite the opposite. It was the environment that he couldn't stand. It wasn't until junior high that Matthew began to understand the way the world saw him.

Teachers and other adults would coddle him as if he was incapable of doing anything himself. He socialized with other children, but friendships were few and far between. It only became worse once he started high school. His brother fell right into place, making friends left and right and joining the school's wrestling team. But Matthew's social life, on the other hand, was nonexistent. He often found himself jealous of his brother, of how charismatic he was and the effect he had on people, of how he didn't have to deal with people feeling sorry for him, or have people talk to him like he was stupid. He felt guilty, selfish even, for having such feelings when Alfred did nothing but support him, but he just couldn't help it. Feelings of dread and anxiety began to take hold of him, and his legs felt like lead. He would give anything for a chance to turn back around.

"Dude, what's with the grandma legs?" Alfred teased, realizing that Matthew had started to drift behind him.

"H-Huh? Oh." Matthew quickened his pace, returning to the other's side with a soft apology.

The meek reply caught Alfred off guard. Curious, he peered at Matthew from under his umbrella and noticed his head had slumped forward, his long hair making it difficult for him to make out his brother's expression. His body language was off though, Alfred could see that much.

"Hey," he said in a voice that was uncharacteristically quiet. "What's wrong?"

Matthew's head snapped up at Alfred's question and he quickly shook his head, smiling. "Nothing," he said, "I'm just a little tired. I couldn't sleep much last night," he explained, laughing nervously. "You know, first day and all." It wasn't a total lie. It _had _taken a while for Matthew to fall asleep the night before. It was hard to catch Zs when all he could think of was how agonizing the next day would be.

Alfred stared at Matthew's smiling face, his eyes narrowing with skepticism. The lenses of his glasses were smudged and a little fogged over, but he could see that sham of a smile clear as day. And he didn't like it.

Matthew heard his brother hum in what sounded like understanding, and finally released the breath he'd been holding. He felt a little guilty for lying to his brother, but he didn't need Alfred worrying about him. He did that enough already. He heard Alfred chuckle then, but it was odd. It was a dry laugh, short and breathy. Matthew raised an eyebrow.

"What?" he said turning his head slightly to face the other.

"You're usually really great at lying, but that," he said, shaking his head, "that was really lame."

Matthew's mouth opened and closed multiple times before he could force out a reply. "I-I wasn't-"

"Yeah, you were. So, what's really going on?"

Matthew gripped his umbrella tighter, facing ahead. "Nothing's 'going on.' I'm just tired, alright?" His annoyance was evident in his voice, and his answer was firm. He was annoyed at himself more than anything, for letting his negative thoughts ruin his good mood.

Had Matthew answered with such conviction the first time, Alfred surely would have believed him. But after catching Matthew in a lie, he just couldn't shake the feeling that something was up. He stayed silent for a while, listening to Matthew's cane rumble against the ground as he thought to himself. He spoke again once they reached another crosswalk.

"You're…not really excited about school today, are you?"

Matthew froze. He swallowed thickly, biting his lip. Since when did Alfred get so good at reading him, he wondered. Still, he played dumb. "Why do you say that?" he asked, his soft voice barely audible over the cars zooming by.

Alfred sighed. "C'mon, you know why. You were totally fine a few minutes ago. We were just walkin' like we normally do, and then you start moping."

"I wasn't moping…" he said. Or was he? "I think."

"Mattie…are there people messing with you?" Alfred asked after a silence.

Matthew's eyes widened, his brows furrowed in confusion. His brother's voice had taken on a completely different tone. "W-What?"

"Are people messing with you?" he repeated, gripping Matthew's shoulder. "Giving you a hard time?"

Matthew shook his head vigorously. "Of course not!"

Alfred wanted to press him further, ask who these bullies were. He wanted to know their names, what year they were in, what made them think they could mess with his brother without him knowing about it. But he didn't. The puzzled expression on Matthew's face was answer enough. There were no bullies; he was telling the truth. He released Matthew's shoulder, the tension in his body slowly disappearing. He was relieved to find that his suspicions were wrong, but he still didn't know what was eating at his brother, and it bothered him.

"Then…what is it?" Alfred asked again, frowning deeply.

Matthew almost felt like laughing. Almost. It was ironic, he thought, that Alfred would think other students picked on him. To be picked on, he first had to be acknowledged, and that wasn't exactly Matthew's strong suit. Plus, he was handicapped. No one made fun of the handicapped. Not legitimately, anyway. Matthew had gotten enough pity in his short sixteen years to last him the rest of his life. Bullying was the least of his worries. Still, he appreciated his brother's concern. It made him feel…important.

"I'm just…nervous," he admitted. "Meeting new people is…well, it's kind of a chore. I don't exactly 'click' with people too well," he said sheepishly, which was just a less depressing way of saying that his peers preferred to talk to people that weren't him.

"Aw, don't sweat it, bro!" Alfred said, relieved to hear that it was just a case of the nerves. The signal they'd been waiting on turned bright green and the boys crossed, Alfred doing his best to avoid puddles. Matthew winced as his counterpart gave his back a few hardy slaps. "Besides, everyone gets a little nervous on the first day, you know? Don't worry. You'll be fine, Mattie."

Matthew smiled, starting to feel at ease. Maybe this year would be different than the last. There was no way of knowing for sure, but Alfred's optimism was contagious. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Of course I am!" he said jokingly. "I'm the-"

"Hero. Yeah, I know," Matthew laughed.

**A/N: I really love the FACE family, and since there was plenty FrUk and feel good father-son vibes in the prologue, it just wouldn't have been complete without some sickly sweet brotherly fluff. In the next chapter, the arrogant dork I'm sure you've been waiting for finally makes his appearance, so please stay tuned! Thank you so much to all that have given this story some love. I really appreciate it.**

**If you're curious about how prosthetic eyes function, or what a socket without an eye looks like, mosey on down to the old YT for some great live visuals. It's pretty amazing. Not for the faint of heart!**


	4. What's Your Sign?

_"Opposites attract each other and so do Cancer and Capricorn. They find each other quite fascinating and represent the qualities that help to complement one another. Cancer appreciates Capricorn's dedication, and Capricorn admires the perseverance of the Crab. Both of them are dependable and ready to commit to any relationship they make."_

* * *

WHAT'S YOUR SIGN?

Her name was Samantha. Matthew didn't know much about her, but for the two minutes he'd spoken to her, he'd learned that she was an only child and had a poodle named Patricia. He'd also learned that she wasn't the best conversationalist. Matthew was trying his best to stay optimistic, he really was, but with the way things were progressing, or rather, not progressing, it wasn't as easy as he'd hoped. He sat patiently at his newly assigned desk, his hands shoved into the front pocket of his favorite hoodie.

"You're gonna be fine," Alfred had said once they'd arrived at his first class of the day, seeing Matthew off with a wave and a smile. And his brother was right; he was perfectly fine. The girl across from him, however, seemed to be in a bit of a daze.

"So, uh…"

He held back a sigh as the fidgeting girl fell silent once again. She had started to shuffle her feet against the floor, which he guessed was her way of coping with being in her current situation. Talking with him, that is. She seemed restless, and her efforts to keep conversation were beyond pitiful. It was painfully obvious to Matthew that the girl was uncomfortable, and he was the reason why. Even so, Matthew made sure to give a small, encouraging smile as she forced herself to speak.

"What's your favorite color?" she asked. As the last word left her mouth she gasped, clasping a hand over her mouth. "Oh wait," she groaned inwardly, "you don't understand colors, right?"

Much to Matthew's disappointment, this first day was turning out to be just as excruciating as all the rest. The sophomore had fallen victim yet again to the dreaded ice breaker, and he wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. Talking to complete strangers about meaningless aspects of their lives was awkward enough for Matthew, but listening to them trip over their words as they struggled to interact with him was the icing on the cake.

Matthew smiled gently, shaking his head. "No, it's fine. It's-"

"I swear I'm not trying to be funny!" The girl insisted, throwing up her hands defensively at her chest. "I'm sorry for offending you! I-It's just that I'm not really used to, um," she trailed off. She nibbled on her bottom lip and fiddled with the hem of her skirt, trying to think of what more she could say. "Crap," she sighed in defeat. "I've never really, you know-"

"It's red."

The girl tilted her head to the side, raising an arched brow. "Huh?"

"My favorite color," Matthew repeated. "It's red."

"Oh…" she said, laughing nervously. She played with her pin straight hair, the bangles she wore jangling slightly at her wrist. "So…you _do_ know what colors look like?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Oh…"

The confusion in her voice was readily apparent, but she made no attempt to question him, and so Matthew chose not to elaborate. After all, they were supposed to be talking about dull, ice breaker-y things, like their hobbies and pets they had at home, not his knowledge of the color spectrum. But Matthew had done this countless times before, and he was used to being overshadowed by his shortcomings. It was a bittersweet sort of experience, the ice breakers. Sure the conversations were awkward and stilted, but he was socializing. It was forced socializing, but socializing nonetheless. Just as he opened his mouth to ask his next obligatory question, his teacher, Mrs. Héderváry, demanded the attention of the classroom, bringing the discussions to a halt.

"Alright, class," she began. "We're going to switch it up once more." She smirked slightly as a chorus of groans rang throughout the room. "I like that enthusiasm." She turned to the chalkboard and grabbed an eraser, wiping away the directions she'd written a few minutes earlier.

"This will be our last go around, and I won't be assigning you partners. But-" she held up a finger, narrowing her cool, green eyes, "I want you to go find somebody that you _haven't _spoken to yet. And don't think I don't know which of you already know each other," she added, "because I do." She seated herself on the edge of her desk and crossed her legs, smiling playfully. "I'll be watching closely. Now, start chatting!"

Matthew hadn't even had time to blink before the girl across from him scurried away, leaving a trail of sickly sweet perfume behind her. He sighed softly, neither saddened nor surprised by her hasty departure. Besides, he already knew. He knew that had the girl not been forced to talk with him, then she most certainly would have avoided him. It was what everyone did. Not because he was strange or unpopular, or anything so superficial, but because he was who he was. Everyone knew who he was. Teachers, students, people at the grocery store-he was basically a celebrity. Matthew Bonnefoy,"the blind kid."

It was impossible not to spot him in the halls, with his thin white cane gripped firmly in one hand and his textbooks in the other. Every morning he would make his way to class, listening as students pushed and shoved at their friends, telling them in hushed whispers to move out of his way. A small side-step and a polite apology were about the only acknowledgements he would receive from his peers on a day-to-day basis. Matthew was far from oblivious. Even without seeing their faces, he knew. He knew that he, or more specifically his blindness, made people uncomfortable. Students always seemed so uneasy around him, hesitant to speak to him. Matthew knew he shouldn't let it bother him. But he also knew that when he walked into school each morning, it was as if he was barely even there. And that was something he would never be able to ignore.

Matthew shook his head, snapping out of his troubled musings. He had more awkward socializing to do, and he certainly couldn't do that while he was sitting off in the corner like some loner. He mentally scolded himself for spacing out, and reached under his seat to grab his cane, but stopped short, gasping softly as a voice reached his ears among the buzz of steady chatter.

"I take it ice breakers aren't your thing?"

Matthew slowly sat up, turning to face the stranger. The voice was deep, obviously male, and slightly accented. German, from what Matthew could tell. It held no familiarity whatsoever, which caught him off guard, but he managed to stutter out a response.

"O-Oh, well I-"

"I'm Gilbert," the other said, a mischievous smile on his pale face. He stole a nearby chair from an empty desk and sat in it backwards, settling himself comfortably at the opposite end of Matthew's desk. "Mind if I hide back here with you?"

Matthew sat there with his mouth slightly open, completely stupefied by the fact that someone had come up to him of their own volition, introduced themselves, and taken a seat across from him. It was surreal.

Gilbert chuckled, leaning forward on the hind legs of his chair. "I know my sheer awesomeness is pretty hard to handle, but it's never shaken a guy silent before."

"Uh, sorry," Matthew said hurriedly, a light flush rising to his cheeks. "N-No, I don't mind." He wondered if he should mention that he wasn't actually hiding, but quickly decided against it as the truth was sort of embarrassing. "I'm Matthew," he added.

"Matthew, huh?" Gilbert narrowed his siren red eyes, carefully studying the soft-spoken boy in front of him. It was the first time he was able to clearly see his face. The only time Gilbert would see him was in the crowded halls, but he would always walk with his head slightly down, and it mildly annoyed Gilbert for reasons he couldn't quite understand.

His facial features were soft and somewhat feminine, and his long and wavy hair only made it even more so. Gilbert's gaze lingered on Matthew's eyes. They were a soft blue color, a shade so odd that they appeared to give off a purplish hue. They didn't seem to be focused on him, or on anything in particular for that matter, but Gilbert just shrugged it off, knowing that it would be exceptionally unfair (and stupid) to expect eye contact from a guy who couldn't even see him. He grinned, satisfied that he could now put a name to the strangely cute face.

"I like it," he said, setting his chair safely back on the ground. "It has a hell of a lot more character than 'the blind kid' if you ask me."

"Oh. _That_," Matthew smiled gently, flushing at the mention of his less-than-glamorous alias. "Thanks."

"So, Matthew," Gilbert said, his voice barely above a whisper. He watched Matthew lean in a bit to hear him better, and a crooked smile stretched across his face. "You come here often?" he asked.

Matthew's brows had upturned in confusion, thrown off by both the question and the sudden change in the other's voice. It was smooth, sultry, and definitely not the same voice he'd heard just seconds earlier. "What?" he laughed sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"What's your sign?" Gilbert continued, "Some say the zodiacs can make or break a relationship."

"U-Uh…" It was obvious that the boy was joking, but Matthew still found himself struggling to find his voice, not exactly sure how he should respond. He absolutely hated how heated his face was getting. He was startled when Gilbert broke into a fit of laughter.

"Oh man, you should see your face," he cackled. "Pinker than a newborn's ass."

Matthew tried to hold back a smile, but failed miserably. What a ridiculous comparison. "I'm sure it is," he said, bowing his head in an effort to hide his face. Who exactly was this guy? Matthew thought, flustered and yet amused all the same. And what in the world had possessed him to use the cheesiest pick-up line known to man on an unsuspecting stranger in the middle of a 10th grade English class?

"Tell me that wasn't the most awesome ice breaker you've ever heard," he said, grinning lopsidedly.

"Well," Matthew laughed, "it was pretty creative."

"Heh. Exactly," he said with a nod. "You should expect nothing less from a guy as awesome as me."

Matthew's lips parted ever so slightly as he cracked a small smile, marveled by how unapologetically arrogant the German was. He could just hear the smugness dripping from every word that left his lips, and picture the expression of satisfaction on his face. His aura reeked of confidence and certainty, from the firmness of his voice to the way he had practically claimed the opposite half of Matthew's desk as his own. It was coming off of him in waves, reminding Matthew of just how weak his own presence was. It was somewhat intimidating to the young introvert and yet captivating at the same time. He found himself leaning forward just a bit more.

Gilbert straddled his chair, scoffing as he thought of all of the students he'd talked with over the class period. "I mean, how many times is someone gonna ask me what my favorite food is or how many siblings I have? And I couldn't give even a quarter of a shit about some stranger's birthday, so I have no idea why everyone's been asking for mine. If we have to do this every year, we might as well make it fun, y'know?"

Matthew wanted to laugh at how offended Gilbert sounded. "It does get old," he said, chuckling. "I think three or four people asked me what my favorite animal was."

"You're joking."

He shook his head. "My last partner asked for my favorite color."

"Scheiße," Gilbert groaned, "all we're missing are the crayons and graham crackers." He smiled when he heard Matthew laugh again, and decided that it was a sound that he rather liked. "Alright, well I've got a question for you that I can guarantee you haven't been asked today."

Matthew was curious now. "Ok," he said after a moment's pause. "Sure."

"You free this Friday after school?"

Matthew froze, stunned. He was anticipating another cheesy pick-up line or maybe a not-so-serious question about his favorite superhero or what he aspired to be when he grew up, something to that effect. But he definitely wasn't expecting what he'd just heard, and it blindsided him. He hadn't realized how humiliatingly stupid he must have looked until he heard what Gilbert said next.

"You ok?" he asked, a brow disappearing into his platinum blonde bangs. The boy looked like he had seen a ghost, blue eyes wide and mouth ajar.

"Y-Yes, I'm fine. Sorry," he said, smiling sheepishly. "I was just thinking of something. Friday you said?"

"Yeah, I've got a club I'm staying after for," he explained, "You should come. I mean, unless you've got plans that day. If you're busy, that's cool. Don't worry about it.

"No," Matthew replied, shaking his head. He said it only after a considerable pause, as if he had to think about whether or not he would be available. The last thing he wanted to do was come off too excited, and ruin what he was already sure was too good to be true. "I don't have plans."

The truth was that Matthew _never_ had plans, at least not with people who weren't his family. He was _always _available. Nearly every afternoon he sat off in his favorite corner of the school's library, listening to audio books or doing homework as he waited for his brother to finish wrestling practice. On rare occasions (usually when the library was closed) he would sit in on Alfred's practices, but he really preferred not to. Listening to obnoxious teenage boys pummel each other to the floor wasn't exactly relaxing.

"Awesome. Then you should come. Only if you want to."

"Ok, I'll come," he said, smiling more openly than Gilbert had seen up to that moment. It was still a modest little smile, but somehow a little less timid than the ones before it. "What's the club called?"

"That's a secret," the German said elusively, laughing at the confused look on Matthew's face.

"But how can I find it if I don't know the club name?"

"It's pretty hard to find regardless," he said with a shrug. "And I know you've never been in the general area let alone the room. But that isn't your fault. Only a certain group of students know about it. But don't worry," he soothed. "I'm gonna take you there personally. We need to meet up somewhere after school."

"Alright." Matthew took a few seconds to think. "Hm, how about in front of the library?" he suggested. It was at the center of the school and was easy to get to from any area of the building.

"Library it is then." Gilbert glanced at Matthew as he nodded in agreement and noticed that his cheeks were still stained pink. It was kind of cute. He wondered if he was still flustered over the awesomely clever ice breaker he'd used. The way he'd reacted was also kind of cute, and he was pretty sure that he wanted to see it again. He leaned back against the empty desk behind him, resting on his elbows. "Now that we've got that settled," he said, "maybe you can finally answer my question."

"Huh? What question?"

Gilbert smirked devilishly. "What's your sign?"

"W-Wha—Stop asking that!" Matthew demanded, his face burning all over again. It sounded like more of a plea. "The ice is broken!" His words were drowned out by Gilbert's bizarre cackling, and Matthew soon found it impossible not to join in.

His name was Gilbert. Matthew didn't know much about him, but during the short time he spent talking with the mischievous boy, he'd learned that he was like no one he'd ever met. He'd also learned that Gilbert was an excellent, if not expert, conversationalist. He was brash in his actions, bold with his tongue. He was cocky, playful, and even obnoxious at times. He demanded attention, demanded his voice be heard. He and Matthew couldn't be any more different, but Matthew couldn't help but be drawn to him. And as he headed home that afternoon chatting along with his brother at his side, he realized that that day was the first time in a long time that he'd actually felt…normal. And it was all because of Gilbert.

**A/N: In the next chapter, Matthew goes on a journey with his expert guide and finally finds out what this "secret" club is all about. Our cast also grows as two new faces are added into the mix. As always, thanks for reading! Your feedback is always appreciated!**


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